


focus

by missmacphisto



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, PWP, Shameless PWP, poe dameron: cunning linguist is fucking Canon, you can pry that from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:51:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5902513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmacphisto/pseuds/missmacphisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can relax, you know." He said, sounding stunningly conversational for someone who's mouth was <em>dangerously </em>close to her--well. "I don't bite."</p>
            </blockquote>





	focus

Poe knew things.

That was the assumption--that was how this all started. Poe _knew_ things, he had to; he was the one who grew up in all of _this_. Around other people. Other normal people.

Poe knew things and Rey liked to learn--actually she liked to take apart and inspect, she liked to learn things inside out. She liked to deconstruct and rebuild. She wanted to know how things worked.

Poe knew things; Poe offered to show her.

So that was how they got here, or at least that was the shortest distance between the two points--the real road had been a lot more winding and wasn't quite done yet besides, but it was extremely difficult to concentrate, as it turned out, when he had his mouth against the inside of her knee.

It was difficult to do a lot of things. Like breathe, for instance, or unclench her fingers from where they were twisted into the bedsheets. He'd barely touched her, hadn't even kissed her, but here she was, not wearing pants and feeling a little bit like she was about to die if he didn't _do_ something about it.

Poe smiled against her thigh like he knew, which, damn him, he probably _did_. He hadn't bragged about his _experience_ , but while she might not know a lot, she knew how to listen to gossip--or how to eavesdrop without making it obvious that you were eavesdropping.

He had experience.

"Okay?"

Rey nodded, single sharp jerk of her head that felt out of control for how contained it was.

"Yes. Good. Very--" She swallowed, watching every move the top of his head made like she was hypnotized. "--very good."

His grin was infectious and it made her want to smile except that her whole body was so tense, it felt like trying to bend an iron bar with her bare hands. He was using a hand to draw a line on the outside of her thigh and it was very, very distracting.

"You can relax, you know." He said, sounding stunningly conversational for someone who's mouth was _dangerously_ close to her--well. "I don't bite."

That sparked a laugh, brief as it was and she shifted again, trying to find a better angle for her elbows. There was nothing in the rulebook that said she had to watch, but there was nothing that said she _couldn't_ either. Given the option, she'd never been one to shy away from getting her hands dirty. So to speak.

"You know," She said, trying out this _conversational_ tone and failing miserably at sounding anything but toeing the line of desperation, "When I asked for lessons, this isn't--what I meant."

Poe shrugs, seemingly unbothered as he threaded his arms underneath her legs, hands spreading flat against her stomach in a way that sends heat curling tight and low.

"Lesson number one," He says, leaning forward so he could press a kiss just below her bellybutton, "He--or she--should be _delighted_ to go down on you."

Like she thought; Poe knows _things_.

Knows enough to get her squirming, just a little bit at first--she thought he might get right to it, which would have been nice, but he seems content to stretch it out instead. The image it presents seems at odds, at first, with the thought of _daring Best-in-the-Resistance fighter pilot, Poe Dameron,_. She thought he'd be _eager_ , which wasn't to say that he _wasn't_ , just that she thought he was going to go in, guns a-blazing, not waiting for--for what? Her to ask nicely?

He was going to make her ask nicely. The thought made her dizzy.

"Poe--" She wants to sound threatening, like she _means_ it, might do something about it if he's not going to cooperate--he hums genially and her head tips back, and she kicks him in the side.

Sort of accidentally, but also _not_ and he jerked his head away, giving her a reproachful look so threaded through with heat that she nearly slides down in an effort to just _make_ him. The only thing she wants right now, the only thing she can think about, is his mouth on her, and the fact that it's not _happening_ is liable to drive her insane.

"Poe, _please_." She says, finally, voice cracking--he's still giving her that _look_ and for a (panicked) moment, she thinks she might have actually gone too far; there's no way she could have broken a rib, could she, she couldn't have possibly kicked him _that_ hard--

And then he shrugs, agreeable: "Alright."

And then he leans forward and she nearly comes off the bed.

"Oh-- _oh_." If there was a way to breathe, she's forgotten all about it--everything, _everything_ , her whole world has narrowed down to between her thighs and whatever he was doing with his tongue. Still teasing, possibly, but it feels so good, tracing up and down, that she can't even think to complain.

Oh yes, this is what she's been missing out on. This is entirely too much for one body to contain, and she thinks she might simply transcend--half-hysterically, she wonders if it's possible for Jedi to do that, and then, if it's possible for them to do it by _accident_ , if they simply compress up into nothing at all, because that's what it feels like could happen.

He seems determined to keep her pressed to the bed, hands against her hips, and she's just as determined to wrench them upward, couldn't stay pressed to the bed if she tried. It's impossible force meets immovable object right up until Poe decides he doesn't care anymore--or decides he has a better use for at least one of his hands, because the next thing she knows, he's pressing a finger inside her and she wants to scream.

She's not a virgin (anymore), and she's not even entirely unfamiliar with _this_ , she was alone but she wasn't _dead_ , but all of it put together--Poe and his mouth and his hands and _Poe_ , lifting his eyes to look up at her, her legs over his shoulders, the mere thought of it all, actually was so overwhelmingly-- _hot_ , and she isn't sure she can stand it anymore, actually, she's not sure if something can feel so good that it can start to hurt.

She wasn't sure when her hands left the bedspread to curl against his head, tangled in his hair--not pulling, or at least she wasn't up until the second finger and then it's just inevitable, at this point, she nearly wonders if he wanted her to.

"Please, please, _please_ ," She nearly sobs, not sure how else to ask for what she wants--he has to know.

He slows instead, and she swears, _betrayed_ as he lifts his head, looking damnably pleased with himself. Which he always does, and it's usually quite charming, except for right here and right now, when she feels like kicking him again, leg twitching like she quite means it.

"Sorry, what was that--ah, _hey_ ," He says, ducking beneath her foot with a laugh and having the gall to not look even the least bit remorseful. She nearly hates him, but the thought it smothered as quickly as it comes. No, she decidedly does not.

"Poe," She says, as seriously as one can manage when one's face is flushed up to her hairline and when she sounds a bit like she's just done more than enough running. As it turns out, the only thing she can manage to get through without stumbling is his name, which is a different kind of embarrassing and at another time, she'd have the presence of mind to feel _something_ about that, but it really doesn't seem to matter at the moment.

"Can you--" She shifts her hips, like he'll take that hint, and instead he seems to look mildly interested, although she could have sworn that his fingers twitched in the ghosting imitation of _movement_ and oh, fuck it all.

"I am _trying_ \--" She's frustrated now, nearly on the edge of something not nearly so nice and entirely incapable of translating that into the here and now--other people might be capable of playing those games, and she might even want to learn, but not today.

"Okay, okay." He says, soothing at once--he's got the same touch with ships as he does with people, he knows how far to push and how fast, and he somehow seems to know exactly when the breaking point comes too. She would like to spend more time wondering if that was something innate, or if it was something he learned, if being good at _people_ is a skill that you can pick up, but then he crooks his fingers and she shrieks again.

He’s saying something like _shh, Rey_ , and that’s all fine and good and _easy_ for him, but she’d have to bite through her tongue to keep her mouth shut now and if he didn’t want that, he should have thought about it a long, long time ago.

The world narrows down to a single point between her thighs, the feeling not unfamiliar but difficult to name and hundred times as intense besides. It was different, someone else; something she couldn’t quite pinpoint and a number of things that she _could_. His fingers were larger, calloused differently, and they moved differently--it was unpredictable, too, it wasn’t something that she had to think about.

And maybe it was just the attention--part of it had to be the mere thought of someone paying _attention_ , this kind of attention (but really, any kind of attention) to _her_.

She came with another sharp cry, intense and seizing, locked up in the kind of rictus that was nearly worrying if it didn’t feel so _good_.

It left her huffing and damn near comatose, legs akimbo and hand cramped from where it was twisted into the bedspread; this, too, was something new. _Afterglow_ wasn’t really something she was used to either, basking wasn’t something that you really _did_. Or at least, she didn’t; no time, and while it had always felt _good_ , there had always been something perfunctory about it too.

There was nothing _perfunctory_ about this. Absolutely not one single part of it.

She realized, slowly, as she drew up one leg, that he was still there--still between her thighs, looking up at her with an expression she almost didn’t recognize, eyes dark, grin quicksilver.

She shuddered when she realized he hadn’t removed his fingers yet, sucking in her lower lip, a smile picking up at the corner of her mouth.

“Lesson number two,” He said, and she could feel herself clench at the sound of his voice, she didn’t miss the way he inhaled (even if the way his hips jerked forward against the bed went unnoticed), the way the temperature in the room hadn’t abated at all.

He was going to try again; her eyes sought a spot on the ceiling, and she wasn’t sure if she was asking for deliverance or offering up some kind of praise. Either way, her head tipped back again, his breath hot.

“They should want to do it more than once.”

**Author's Note:**

> opens garbage can lid hello mtv and welcome to my crib
> 
> honestly i wish i was ashamed but I'm Not, rey deserves orgasms and poe is A Good Dude
> 
> come join me in trash hell on tumblr @ achtungkatie.tumblr.com!! i probably even take prompts!!


End file.
